


Commemorate

by AuroraNova



Series: The Vadari Chronicles [21]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21879892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: “I know you mean well, my dear, but it would be inappropriate.”By the Cardassian calendar, it's been one year since the Dominion bombardment. Julian tries his best to be a supportive partner... and not put his foot in his mouth.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: The Vadari Chronicles [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1336183
Comments: 17
Kudos: 170





	Commemorate

Julian has just finished reading a paragraph for the third time without taking in one complete sentence. He understands this isn’t uncommon when people are unfocused on the text in front of them, but for him it’s rare and means he’s very distracted indeed.

Distraction is rife right now. The one-year anniversary of the Breen assault was two days ago, an exceptionally solemn occasion because nearly everyone here lost at least one person they loved. Kara’s father and best friend, Lutro’s brother and sister-in-law, half of Siv Traala’s family – Julian can’t think of a single person who didn’t have someone close to mourn, and he didn’t know how to handle the anniversary. He continues to treat the aftermath, but the attack itself isn’t his pain. In the end, he decided the best thing he could do was volunteer for an extra half-shift so someone else could attend the memorial, and since he hasn’t heard anyone whispering about his insensitivity, that must have been a good call.

Tomorrow is a different problem.

The length of a year varies depending where you are. The Vadari moons’ year, for example, is a mere three days longer than an Earth year, which itself is squarely in the average range for an inhabited planet. Andor is noted for lengthy years, while Qo’noS has the shortest known.

Cardassian years have less days than the median. This means that the Dominion bombardment started one year ago tomorrow.

Julian’s dilemma is this: he desperately wants to offer whatever Elim needs from him tomorrow. Weeks ago, he inquired if he should ask for the day off, only for Elim to say, “That won’t be necessary,” in a tone which clearly conveyed a lack of desire for further words on the subject. And how is he supposed to give what Elim needs when his track record for guessing is abysmal and Elim won’t talk about it?

He will go to work as normal. Elim isn’t opening the shop. Beyond that, Julian hasn’t a clue and has only managed to run around in mental circles trying to find even the slightest bit of one.

There’s nothing for it. He has to ask. Or, as Ezri put it, “Why are you asking me what you should do for Garak? He’s the one you need to speak with about this.” (To which Julian replied, “Because you at least will give me an answer.”)

He sets down his padd so as not to have anything to hide behind. That, he’s recently learned, has significance in Cardassian conversation. “Elim?”

“Yes?”

“Is there anything you would like me to do, or not do, tomorrow?” When Elim only looks at him, he attempts to explain, “We both know if I attempt to guess, I’ll probably get it wrong.” He tries, he really does, but he’s no good at intuiting this sort of thing. The best he’s figured out how to do is be aware of the weakness.

“You cannot fix this, Julian,” Elim says, not entirely closed off but wary all the same and making it abundantly obvious. Julian is middling at reading people on a good day, and that’s with the work he’s put in to improve over the years. Once he gets to know someone, he’s better attuned, and in Elim’s case he’s had to work so hard for every little tell that he’s proficient now. Every bit of his partner’s body language is warning him to tread carefully.

“I know I can’t.” He’s learned much that about life. “I can at least not make it worse, if you tell me how.”

“I would prefer that you not try to offer comfort,” says Elim after a moment.

Right. Julian got that lesson when they said goodbye on Cardassia and it quickly became apparent he’d managed to put his foot in his mouth again. He’d meant to offer hope and instead minimized the greatest tragedy in Cardassian history. Not one of his better moments.

“And I don’t imagine I’ll want to talk about it,” continues Elim.

“There. I got that much right.” Because if Elim wanted to discuss his feelings on tomorrow of all days, Julian would be utterly shocked.

This gets him a head tilt of acknowledgement, and then, “I plan to observe a ritual fast. You need not join me.”

“I will, if you’d like.” Frankly, it would be nice to have something active he can do in solidarity.

Elim pats his knee. “I know you mean well, my dear, but it would be inappropriate.”

“Oh.”

Just being here it is, then.

* * *

Julian somehow developed a hole in his left sock halfway through his work day and it’s been annoying him to have his big toe poking out. So, when he gets home and doesn’t see Elim in the living area, he heads directly for the bedroom to change his socks.

The plan is derailed when he finds Elim putting up… something. Interior decoration isn’t a field about which Julian claims any great knowledge. Elim mentioned making a fabric wall hanging a few months ago, and as what he’s putting up is both made of fabric and hanging on a wall, it’s probably what he’d been thinking of creating.

“Did you make this?” asks Julian.

“I did.” Going by his tone, Elim is pleased with how it came out.

“I thought so.”

Elim makes a final adjustment to his art and steps back, satisfied. This frees him to turn his full attention to Julian. “What gave it away?”

“Besides your stated intention to sew something for our bedroom? It just seems… you. The colors, the pattern, the angles. This,” he points to a jagged line bisecting the central triangle, “is a shape I’ve seen you wear.”

The piece is comprised of nine isosceles triangles, all pointing in different directions, attached to the larger equilateral triangle in the middle. No two are exactly alike. Some fabrics are more heavily represented in the quilting pattern (if that’s the right word) than others, and most of them are dark, but there’s a recurring bright blue which is one of Julian’s favorite colors. Knowing Elim, that cannot possibly be a coincidence. The final effect is sharp enough to be distinctly Cardassian, and it’s not something Julian would’ve chosen on his own, but he can appreciate the artistry and certainly doesn’t object to it. He thinks it’s striking, and likes that Elim has finally added something of his own to Julian’s decorations.

Wait a second.

A not insignificant percentage of Julian’s understanding of Cardassian culture comes from books. There was a scene he read nearly four years ago that now seems applicable, if only he knew exactly how. The author took pains to point out the lack of decorations in a room, which seemed to send a message to the protagonist. Unfortunately, Elim decided to try killing off the entire Great Link and incidentally Julian as well, at which Julian took umbrage, and, well, they never did get around to discussing that book even after they started rebuilding their friendship, nor even once Julian started to understand why Elim did what he did.

This wall hanging means something. Actually, it probably has at least five different meanings which will take Julian years to uncover, but right now this one layer of understanding is almost within reach. 

“If you don’t like it…” begins Elim.

“No, no.” Clearly he got lost in thought too long. “It’s a piece of art. I think it’s lovely, I’m just remembering _The Makrian Floods_. There’s something else going on here.”

“Yes,” agrees Elim.

“Are you by chance going to tell me what?”

“What’s your theory?”

Julian wouldn’t have thought Elim would want to play this game today, but maybe it’s a welcome break. “A room without any decorative objects on display carries some instantly recognizable significance to Cardassians.”

“That’s obvious. Go on.”

“My initial thought was that Kentar was an ascetic of some kind, possibly as a form of self-punishment.”

Elim’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t finish the book, did you?”

“No.” He’d been too angry at the time, and it never seemed right to go back and finish it as though Elim hadn’t tried to kill off an entire race (and him in the process). Having seen the very horrors Elim was attempting to prevent has softened Julian’s stance somewhat. Not that he approves of genocide, of course, but he understands the reasoning, and has accepted their different views on the matter. Elim always thinks the ends justify the means, or rather, that there is no need to justify the means in the first place if the ends are worthwhile.

And he was right, to an extent. It’s hard to argue that killing off the Founders wouldn’t have been better for Cardassia.

Morality, as it turns out, is much more complicated that Julian used to think. Obtaining the cure for the morphogenic virus taught him that bitter lesson as it relates to ends and means. He’s not the same person he was before, and neither is Elim. And still, he’s never taken the step of finishing _The Makrian Floods_.

Elim shakes his head. He immediately grasps the symbolism of the unfinished book, but chooses not to comment on it. Even when Julian pulled away from him, he never faulted the response, and isn’t likely to insist Julian ever complete the novel. “There is no modern asceticism to speak of on Cardassia. Unless you count the involuntary.”

“No. That’s called scarcity.”

“I agree. As for self-punishment, what a weak one bare walls would be. Pointless, really.”

That makes sense. Cardassians, by and large, don’t bother with half-measures. Self-punishment would probably include penalties both more extreme and at least slightly alarming from Julian’s perspective. Flagellation, maybe, or a tightly restricted diet. Something designed to cause moderate-to-severe suffering, and thankfully he hasn’t seen any such behaviors from Elim.

After a moment of consideration, he decides to advance half a theory based on today’s significance. “It relates to mourning.”

“Yes.”

Elim is waiting for more. Julian gives this further thought based on what he knows of Cardassian customs and comes up with, “A specific custom for a certain kind of mourning.”

“Right again.”

Based on Elim, it’s either grieving for a mass catastrophe, or for a particular relationship. Unless there’s something else altogether Julian has failed to consider, which is always a possibility. He would know if he’d read _The Makrian Floods_ in its entirety. Maybe he will one of these days.

In the meantime, he sets one hand gently on Elim’s shoulder. This is unstable emotional ground. “Family?” he asks quietly.

Elim nods. “Parents and children. I, of course, have no children.”

Tain was already dead, so that leaves his mother. Or rather, the woman who raised him but Cardassian society would not call his mother because she didn’t give birth to him. Regardless, by Elim’s standards for sharing personal information he’s been quite forthcoming. It’s more than Julian expected today.

Not sure how to respond, and desperate not to mess this up, he asks the least dangerous question which comes to mind. “Did it bother you that I put out my things?”

“Not at all. You aren’t beholden to Cardassian customs, particularly those about which you have no idea. I’m simply pleased you like the wall hanging.”

Best guess, that means Elim isn’t interested in discussing his mother any more. No surprise there. Julian follows his lead and continues the conversation on less fraught grounds. “Yes. It certainly adds something to the room, and you used the blue I like.” Upon closer inspection, the blue is often worked in swirls, layered atop a pattern otherwise notable for lots of angles. He can’t even imagine what that stands for.

“I feared reprisals if I tried to place a decoration without some vibrant hues,” says Elim with a nod.

“Like what? Betazoid murals on the other three walls?”

Elim winces. It’s for dramatic effect, though he truly doesn’t care for Betazoid murals with their explosions of color and utterly chaotic composition. Julian is hard-pressed to think of art more diametrically opposed to Cardassian aesthetics. Admittedly, he isn’t a connoisseur, but still, he’s coming up blank.

“You aren’t that cruel,” says Elim. And then, looking down, he asks, “What happened to your sock?”

* * *

After a change of socks and a dinner of leftover casserole (for Julian) and herb-infused water (for Elim, who has discovered parsley and can’t get enough of it), they decide to go for a walk. Or rather, Elim decides he will, and Julian tags along under the assumption that if his company is undesirable, Elim won’t be shy about saying so.

Julian has one arm in his coat when the doorbell rings. Elim is closer, so he opens the door.

“Hi guys,” says Kara. “Is this a bad time?”

“For what?” asks Julian.

“I need another taste tester. I’m trying a couple new cake recipes for Jocelyn’s baby shower, and Lutro and I are divided on which is better, so I could really use another opinion.” She looks apologetically at Elim. “Sorry, they have butter.”

“That’s quite all right,” says Elim.

Under normal circumstances, Julian would happily volunteer for taste testing duty. Today, however, he is firmly focused on being a supportive partner. “Is there any chance it can wait until tomorrow?”

“Uh, sure,” says Kara, confusion apparent. “Is everything alright?”

“I am perfectly capable of walking unaccompanied,” Elim says. “You need not decline on my account.”

“Maybe not, but I’m doing it anyway.” Julian can do precious little for Elim today, and he hates being so powerless. The very least he can do is stay with him, not go running off for cake, even cake as delicious as Kara’s baking always is. He’ll go if Elim requests to be left alone. Otherwise, it will take a medical emergency to get him away.

Kara looks from Julian to Elim and concludes, “Okay, I’m clearly interrupting something, so I’ll go. Come by later or tomorrow if you want.”

“I will,” promises Julian. He’ll happily submit himself as a cake tester, and probably ought to explain the significance of today as well. Kara will understand.

It’s a cool enough evening that Elim puts on a hat and gloves. Julian doesn’t need either. The region doesn’t experience extreme temperature fluctuations, but it is almost winter and they’re in a cool spell besides, to Elim’s displeasure. He dislikes having to wear a hat, mainly because it falls under the category of allowing others to see his supposed weakness and secondarily because it messes up his hair. Elim is not without his vain streak. He also seems unmollified to discover that some Vulcans have also started to wear hats outside lately, which Julian thought would’ve made him feel better. Unless, of course, Elim is far more worried about his hair than he wants to admit.

Regardless, Cardassians lose body heat through the head just like humans and indeed most humanoid species, and Elim hates being cold, so the hat goes on before they head out the door.

“Do you have a route in mind?” asks Julian.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

Elim doesn’t quite sigh, but it’s a near thing. “My dear, I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but it is traditional to walk in contemplative silence on an occasion such as this.”

“Sorry. Contemplative silence it is.” It makes sense, now that Julian thinks about it. Cardassians prize conversation. The absence is a stark reminder of normality, loss, or cheer – take your pick. Most mourning rituals use difference to emphasize sorrow, after all. (Irish wakes being an exception. During the months on the _Defiant_ during the war, Miles made it clear that if he died he wanted an Irish wake, and Julian will be eternally grateful he didn’t have to plan that event.)

It’s a long walk, so Julian has time to contemplate a wide variety of subjects. Having submitted his paper on a Trill-Klingon baby to the _Interspecies Medical Journal_ , he’s starting a new angle of research on Breen radiation as it impacts mitochondrial replication, and expects to get at least one paper out of the project. He needs to read up on a couple of the more obscure Ktarian medical conditions. Work aside, he’s thinking of introducing Elim to _Gulliver’s Travels_ and needs to read that, as well.

By the time they arrive home, Julian is sure this is the longest he and Elim have ever gone without speaking. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, just laden with the enormity of loss. Julian cannot imagine what Elim is going through. What all of Cardassia is going through.

Elim is quiet for the rest of the evening, which he passes reading. Julian shares the couch with him and reads _The Journal of Interstellar Immunology_ until bedtime. 

When they’re tucked in bed, Elim says very quietly, “She would have liked you. My… mother.” The pause indicates clearly that he means his adoptive mother, and perhaps on Cardassia he wouldn’t have been allowed to grieve her as a parent.

If Julian hadn’t handled the day right, Elim wouldn’t be sharing. It’s quite a relief. “I’m glad. I wish I could have met her.”

Elim’s noncommittal hum indicates he’s said all he cares to on the topic. Then, just in case Julian hadn’t picked up his first hint, he fusses with his pillow some more. He’s very particular about his pillow, but Julian is starting to suspect that sometimes he uses it to change the topic as well. No matter. Elim didn’t shut him out today, and Julian didn’t make anything worse by desperately trying to help, so all has gone as well as it could have.

Elim holds him for a long time before drifting off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to show that they've both grown here. Hopefully that came across!


End file.
